I've Got a Fever For You I Just Can't Explain
by equalopportunityobsessor
Summary: For a prompt on AvengerKink: "Pepper and Tony are both sick, and somehow the entire team ends up fussing over them and taking care of them. Bonus if Pepper is cuddlier than Tony when she's sick and Tony puts up a front but secretly doesn't mind at all."


It's actually Natasha that gets them sick, and Tony will never ever ever let her forget it (_ever_).

Last week, Natasha had been deathly ill in the way that only Natasha could be deathly ill – she sounded a little 'stubbed ub' when she spoke, and her eyes were a little redder than normal, but there was no reason at all to suspect that she ought to be exempt from the monthly 'So You Can't Believe That This Is Your Life Either?' Girl's Club meeting (whose members always included Sharon Carter, Darcy Lewis and Pepper Potts, and expanded out to every woman with enough contact with the Avengers, from Maria Hill to Gwen Stacy). So Natasha went out, and drank vodka martinis like the iron-spined Russian she is. All it took was picking up the wrong martini glass (which gets _really easy to do_, they all look the same, and the tipsier Natasha got the more she liked those tiny little olives…) and the next day, Pepper felt like she'd gone and drunk her way through a tequila factory and then filled her lungs with cotton.

And since Pepper and Tony were more like PepperandTony (the evidence was so far inconclusive with respect to the hypothesis 'Pepper and Tony are, in fact, the same person'), the next day Tony felt like he'd drowned himself in cat dander and then filled his head with cement.

Tony woke up with a groan to a foot planted in the small of his back, as Pepper used him to brace her slim body against the force of the coughs wracking through her chest. Tony felt bad for her, he really really did, but he was also super glad that he didn't have a cough, because, you know, coughing is the kind of thing that sucks when you have a miniaturized arc reactor as a fashion accessory taking up room in your chest.

Then, of course, Tony rolled over and realized that he _couldn't breathe_. And he had the mother of all sinus headaches. Awesome. He sucked in air through his mouth under cover of Pepper's continued coughs, trying to be as subtle as possible, because as hard as it is to believe, Tony was one-hundred-percent the suffer in silence kind, and fully intended to hide himself away somewhere in his massive maze of a tower with his body weight in blankets and a tablet until the plague has left him (left him alone or left him for dead, at this point he isn't picky).

As soon as Pepper rolled out of bed, staggering towards the communal kitchen, with its fully stocked drug cabinet and plethora of herbal teas, Tony started to plot his disappearance.

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Steve had to blink several times before he could convince himself that he was, in fact, seeing what he thought he was seeing. Pepper was standing in the doorway, swaying slightly and peering blearily into the brightly kitchen from the relative dimness of the hallway. Since living in the Tower, Steve had become used to seeing Pepper in Casual Mode, dressed in Tony's shirts and/or boxers, yoga pants, t-shirts, and jeans. Still, she'd never looked anything less than completely put together, like she looked precisely as she meant to look at all times.

Now, it was obvious she wasn't quite all there – not that Steve could see what she was wearing, as she had swaddled herself in a thick, heavy comforter. Only the top half of her face was visible through a gap in the blanket's folds. Her eyes were wide and sleepy, and her bangs were sticking limply to the pallid skin of her forehead.

Pepper staggered into the kitchen, bee-lining for the medicine cabinet, her blanket trailing behind her. It got caught on one of the many stools gathered around the island in the middle of the kitchen, pulling her up short. Pepper peered behind her, and there were a few tiny ripples in the fabric as she tried to tug the blanket free. She didn't succeed.

Pepper collapsed onto the stool, tumbling forward onto the counter so that she covered herself completely in the blanket; her hair spilled out from under the cocoon, and then she was still.

Steve had never seen a more miserable looking person in his life, and he wanted nothing more than to bundle her up in his arms and coo at her.

He shared a commiserating glance with Clint, who was sitting across from him and apparently felt the same way, as he reached out and started patting the blanket-lump in the general vicinity of Pepper's head.

"Hey, Pepper?" Clint asked softly, tugging the blanket back a little so he could see her face, "Are you doing okay there?"

Pepper coughed weakly, twice, like she was trying to clear something out of her throat. "Oh, hi Clint," she croaked, and Steve winced.

Clint smiled. "Hi, Pepper. Can I get you something? Besides cold medicine? _All_ the cold medicine?"

Pepper made a sound that might have been a weak chuckle. "Yeah, uhm, Bruce bought some tea that other day, when he thought Natasha was getting sick, it's called Throat Coat, I think? I feel like I need that."

Clint patted her head again. "Yeah, don't try to talk honey, it hurts just to listen to you." He winked at her, and hopped up to fill the kettle and find the tea inside Bruce's overflowing 'Cupboards of Zen-Crap' for the right herbal blend.

Steve reached out a hand towards the Pepper-lump this time, rubbing the slumped line of her shoulders. Her head rolled over slowly until she could look at him.

"Oh, good morning, Steve," she muttered, and Steve had to shush her before she tried to talk more.

"I think you've lost your voice, Pepper, it's probably a better idea not to talk."

She grumbled, scowling up at him with an expression remarkably like her boyfriend's. "My throat doesn't _hurt_ though, I just can't make any noise!" Steve thought she might think she was yelling, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to hear her without the serum. She coughed again, violent coughs this time, that jerked her entire body around. Steve rubbed his hand in circles between her shoulder blades helplessly, remembering countless days spent trying to cough his own lungs out of his body.

Clint returned with a mug full of tea, a glass of orange juice, and a blister pack of pills, which Pepper immediately swallowed, draining the glass of juice after. She then curled around the tea, inhaling the steam.

"Ah, thank you, Clint," she whispered, inhaling so deeply that she triggered another coughing fit.

Clint smiled at her, pushing her hair out of her face so it didn't dip into the tea. "Don't worry about it, Pepper. Don't think we don't know how much you look out for all of us. Besides, we all know that Tony isn't going to be any help _at all_," he teased gently.

Steve smiled, remembering the last time Pepper had been sick. Tony, stuck at some business function in Japan, had been forced to do his hovering remotely, which had led to him calling Pepper every five minutes to 'check in on her'. Steve wasn't kidding even a little bit about the five minute thing. Eventually, the Avengers had become collectively fed up with his paranoia, and installed a webcam in front of the couch where Pepper had collapsed to watch 'Long Island Medium' marathons.

"Mmm, yeah," Pepper mumbled "He especially won't be happy when he figures out how we got sick. He _hates_ being sick."

"Wait, Tony's sick, too?" Steve asked, looking around as though he might have missed the arrival of a similarly aggrieved genius.

Pepper straightened up and took a look around too, and then groaned. "Crap crap crap," she whispered, beginning to stand.

"Hey now," Clint cried, standing up and taking Pepper by the shoulders, easing her back into her seat – she didn't put up much of a fight. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Have to find Tony," she said, "He likes to hide when he gets sick, and we'll never find him if we let him get away…"

"On it," Steve said, springing up and dashing down the hallway to the elevators.

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Stupid Super Soldiers, with their Stupidly Perfect Muscles and Stupid Tactical Geniusing.

Tony grumbled to himself and crossed his arms tightly, but didn't wriggle enough to escape the bridal-carry Steve had scooped him into when he caught Tony trying to clamber into the linen closet in the Tower's laundry room. It had been very warm and soft in there, but being cradled against Steve's Stupidly Fabulous Pectorals was an acceptable alternative.

"Not sick," Tony insisted again, just in case Steve hadn't realized what he was saying before (Steve wasn't a genius, but Tony tried not to hold that against him).

"Sure you're not, Tony," Steve agreed easily, and Tony narrowed his eyes at him.

"That means you can put me down," he explained (poor Steve, it must be really hard on him, thinking that slow).

"Hmm, I don't think so." Steve was grinning widely, and he just kept on carrying Tony.

Tony decided to allow it, though it started to get a little ridiculous in the elevator.

"Seriously, Steve, I don't know if you know this, but I'm actually a Very Important Person," Tony explained patiently, "I have like, four jobs, sometimes five, which means that I have Very Important Things to do, like not be here, so if you could just put me back down, that would be awesome."

"You're sick, Tony, I'm sure your five jobs can wait."

"_Very Important Things_, Steve, I feel like you're not understanding me," Tony whined. "Are you _ignoring_ me?"

Steve's mouth twitched like he was holding back laughter, but he stopped indulging Tony, which was _not okay_. Tony was just gearing up to treat Steve to The Greatest Rant of His Life (it takes a while to get all of his thoughts sorted out, okay, not being properly prepared led to things like The Day Rhodey Stopped Being Scared of Tony (and The Day That Pepper Stopped Being Scared of Tony) which had made his life significantly more difficult, as it led to the impression in people around him that Tony was ridiculous) when they arrived in the kitchen.

"I found him!" Steve announced triumphantly, which Tony thought was entirely uncalled for. Steve plopped him down onto a stool right next to a blanket-lump. The blanket lump gurgled.

"Pepper-pot!" Tony said cheerfully, happy to see her – he was always happy to see Pepper, even when his stomach was making all these squishy-feels because she was unhappy. He lifted a promising-looking corner of the comforter (_his_ Italian silk, goose-down comforter, thank you very much) and found Pepper's head. She was milky-pale and a little grey, and also kind of sweaty. "Still pretty," he commented reassuringly, because Pepper didn't need to be worried about that kind of thing, _ever_, so Tony would take care of that for her. She smiled in response (actually, Pepper didn't really move, but she was smiling. Tony knew these things).

A mug of tea appeared in front of Tony out of nowhere, attached to a large hand, attached to an obscenely muscled forearm. Tony glared up at Clint over the foul-smelling abomination.

"I'm not drinking that."

"It'll make you feel better," Clint insisted, pushing the mug closer to Tony (like that would convince him).

"I'm not sick." Really, he didn't have the time to explain this to Clint too.

"It can't hurt to drink it either way," Steve replied, obviously foreseeing the argument brewing on the horizon.

"Uh, yeah it can," Tony drawled, wrinkling his nose, "It smells like feet. I'm not drinking _anything_ that smells like feet."

"Okay, then," Clint said, in his 'I'm Just Humouring The Insane Genius So He'll Go Away Faster Voice', "What kind of tea doesn't smell like feet? I can make you some of that."

Tony glared. He saw right through that ploy, they weren't fooling him. "_All_ tea smells like feet." Obviously.

Clint groaned, his head dropping back between his shoulder blades. "Then what _do_ you want?"

"Coffee!' Tony said happily, pleased that the peasants were doing his bidding – all was once again right with the world.

"In what universe do imagine that we would let you have coffee right now?" Clint retorted, "You need to be trying to sleep off the cold, not keep yourself awake to insane hours."

"Uh, well, I would have coffee in a universe where I wasn't sick, which, since I'm not sick, would be this one right here, so you have to give me coffee."

"No."

"Fine!" Tony said, standing proudly upright without a wobble (maybe a teeny tiny wobble) and marched towards the coffee machine. "I _can_ make my own coffee, tyrant, and there's no way you're going to stop me!" Tony might have let out a little maniacal cackle, but it wasn't his fault, he hadn't had any coffee yet.

"Oooh-kay there, big guy," Steve said, coming up behind Tony and scooping him up _again_, "Maybe let's get you somewhere a little more comfortable, okay?"

"The lab is pretty comfortable," Tony said magnanimously, "Onwards, noble steed!"

Steve dropped him on the couch in the lounge. It's a nice couch, so really, Tony's day could be going worse, but this isn't actually where he planned to end up.

"Uhm, so, this is not my lab," Tony felt the need to point out as he heaved himself upright, "So I don't feel that I'm obligated to remain here, and I'm just going to go. Okay? Okay."

Tony didn't even make it _most _of the way to upright before Steve pushed him back down – very gently, and with just the right amount of Stupidly Blue Eyes to make Tony feel really bad about himself. At that exact moment, Clint appeared in the lounge, carrying Tony's comforter in his arms. Tony assumed Pepper was still inside the comforter, but he couldn't see even a little bit of her. This assumption is proved correct when Clint dropped the blanket directly on Tony's chest, and it felt more like a Pepper than a blanket.

"Heya, Pep," Tony murmured, trying to peel away Pepper's cocoon so he can give her a decent cuddle. Tony was generally a fairly tactile person, but he wasn't a big _cuddler_ (unless sex has been had (or is being had), then he's got a pretty good octopus impression) at the best of times, and all he wanted when he was sick was to be left alone. But Pepper could out-cuddle a litter of golden retriever puppies when she was sick (and it wasn't _that_ much of a hardship for Tony), so he sucked it up.

"Tony?" she grumbled, blinking at him slowly for a while, before the fact that she was literally directly on top of him seemed to sink in, and then there's no stopping her. She wriggled and twisted and kicked at the blanket until she could rest her head on his chest right above the reactor, and wrap her arms under his ribs. Tony couldn't help but try to squirm away from Pepper's feverishness, because it was _too hot_ under the comforter-and-Pepper. He stretched his neck out, craning his head up until he could just sip at the cool air coming in from the edge of the blanket.

"Little help, guys?" he gasped, and Steve _laughed at him_, but pulled the comforter away. Tony sighed in relief, but Pepper shuddered, curling closer to his chest. Steve hurriedly brought the blanket back, doing his best to just tuck it around Pepper, but the way she was blanketing Tony means that the blanket has to blanket PepperandTony, and he groaned miserably.

"Oh, God, sorry, I uh… I'll get you a fan!" Steve said, and bustled out of the room. Clint left too, meaning Tony was free to do all the hair-petting he liked, so he went ahead and ran gentle fingers through Pepper's limp hair, pressing his fingertips lightly against her scalp with every pass. She managed to sag against him further, as though she was spontaneously exerting a greater force due-to-gravity on his body.

Maybe a nap wasn't such a bad idea…

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Bruce heaved a gigantic, relieved sigh as soon as he stepped into the private elevator of Stark Tower. As much as he enjoyed his humanitarian efforts abroad, he was more than happy for the excuse to rush home, even if it was in the form of a bordering-on-desperate phone call from Clint.

He had no problem believing that Tony was a terror when sick, but even that wasn't enough to stop him from looking forward to being _home_, which was a new thing, for him.

He smiled fondly, remembering how Clint had threatened to come collect Bruce himself if he didn't come home _immediately_, saying that Tony had been asking for him _incessantly_ since he'd gotten ill. Bruce found that more than a little gratifying, so it was with a large grin on his face that he stepped off the elevator onto the communal floor, in full view of the lounge.

There was a mass of blankets on one arm of the large, L-shaped couch, under which Bruce could just make out the shape of a person – or maybe two people, considering he could see both wild, dark curls and a strawberry-blonde tangle poking out from the folds of fabric. Steve was sprawled out in one of the armchairs across from the sick couple, apparently down for the count, though Bruce imagined he'd wake quickly if disturbed (it was nice that he didn't count as a disturbance to the super soldier's psyche).

Bruce let his bag fall to the floor with a soft thump, which was apparently loud enough to wake both Steve and Tony. Steve smiled at him sleepily, before pulling his long limbs in until he was curled up in a ball in his chair, swiftly going back to sleep.

Tony sat up quickly, but carefully enough to ease Pepper into a new position across his lap. She squirmed until her face was mashed into his stomach, coughing miserably. Tony ran a hand through her hair absently. He smiled at Bruce, though it looked a little manic, in his pale face topped with mad-scientist hair and his glazed over eyes.

"Hey, Tony. What's with the crazy eyes?" Bruce teased quietly, stooping to dig through his bag for his medical kit. It'd be nice to put the tools to use on people who definitely were not going to die.

"Brucey-bear! You're home!" Tony wheezed, sniffling between sentences. "Finally!"

Bruce chuckled. "Even _you_ can't get people flown from Calcutta to New York in less time, Tony."

Tony waved his comment off, as expected. Bruce just shook his head, dropping his medical bag onto the couch beside Pepper and cracking it open, digging for his thermometer.

"Uh, Bruce, what are you doing?" Tony asked incredulously, eyeing Bruce up like _he_ was the crazy one.

"You've only been driving everyone insane for the past 24 hours, Tony, asking for a doctor," Bruce pointed out, "I'm just doing what you wanted me to do."

Tony rolled his eyes so hard it hurt, if his wince was anything to go by. "God, _no_, Bruce, I didn't want you back to play _doctor_, though maybe we could try that when Pepper's feeling better-"

"Tony!" Bruce cut him off, knowing that he would just keep going forever if he could. "Clint said you were asking for me, what did you want?"

"Bruce," and now Tony was whining, staring up at Bruce with gigantic eyes, "No one else will let me _science_."

It took everything Bruce had not to laugh at Tony, or wrap his arms around Tony's head and just _smoosh_ him, he was so adorable.

"Tony, buddy," he murmured, reaching out to pull his hand through Tony's hair, "You should just let yourself _rest_."

Tony groaned like he was being tortured, but leaned into Bruce's hand readily enough. "But _Bru-uce_, I'm so _bored_."

Bruce had to chuckle again. "I know, Tony. I know." Tony got that crazy look in his eyes again, so before he could have the chance to make a break for it, Bruce sat down and tugged Tony towards him, so that Tony's back was pressed all along his side, and his head rested comfortably against Bruce's neck. Tony grumbled a bit, and so did Pepper as she had to re-settle herself, but they both quieted when Bruce swung his arm across Tony's chest in such a way that allowed him to rest a hand on Pepper's head.

They rested in silence long enough for Bruce to think that Tony had fallen asleep when he said, "Pepper likes to cuddle when she's sick. That's why I have to be here instead of my lab."

Tony's voice was a little bit defensive, like a child trying to explain why he still liked sleeping with stuffed animals, and Bruce smiled. "And you don't like cuddling when you're sick?"

Tony sniffed condescendingly. "I'm not sick, so it wouldn't matter anyway."

Bruce tugged Tony a little closer to him, dropping a quick kiss into his fluffy hair. "Of course you're not, Tony."

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Phil settled into the large couch in the Avenger's lounge with a sigh, shutting his eyes for just a minute (he started counting in his head, because if he didn't, he'd probably fall asleep right there).

Pepper and Tony had only been sick for the past three days, and were finally on the mend, but it had felt like three weeks. Thor was in Asgard (or New Mexico with Jane, it was a little hard to tell what the Thunderer meant when he said he would be 'out of reach') and Natasha had been called away to perform an emergency 'exfiltration' of one of their agents embedded in Hydra, which left him, Clint, Bruce, and Steve to take of the other two.

Which sounded like good odds, four against two.

It really, really wasn't.

One of them was constantly on 'Tony-duty', as the man had the tendency to slip away if not pinned in place by a sleepy, cuddly Pepper, and was eerily good at _sneaking_. He was mostly on good behaviour with Phil (if only because he was still carrying his taser, and wasn't even a little bit against using it on an invalid), and only tried to annoy Clint with his constant complaining and the occasional escape attempt, but with Steve… Tony took a savage kind of glee from flustering the good Captain, and took every opportunity to slip Steve's leash. He didn't even try to run for his lab, he just liked to hide.

So. One of them on constant Tony duty, one of them to keep up the necessary supply of cold medicine, tissues, blankets, and tea, one of them to handle supply runs and any other emergencies, while one of them got to sleep. They'd given up on operating _without_ a rotating schedule 4 hours after Bruce had returned.

Now, with both of them on the mend, Phil had finally found a free minute to do his paperwork, which piled up on the best of days. Thankfully, the Fantastic Four had been on-planet (and in-dimension?) and more than willing to take care of any _incidents_ that might crop up.

He'd just settled into the familiar rhythm of checkbox-checking and repetitive-bullshitting when one of his charges re-emerged from the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Pepper demanded, and Phil looked up in surprise. He'd expected Tony to be the one who tried to interrupt his work.

Pepper looked much better, obviously freshly showered, though there were still dark circles under her eyes and her voice was only the slightest bit more audible. She was swamped in an old MIT sweater that was too large to have belonged to Tony, and seemed very proud of herself for it. She'd finally given up the comforter earlier this morning, but still liked the feeling of drowning in fabric.

"Just catching up on some paperwork," he replied, smiling at her. She scowled.

"No."

That was it, that was all she said, and Phil despaired. Of course, _of course_, Pepper wouldn't be entirely free of Tony's idiosyncrasies, Phil wailed to himself as Pepper stalked across the room towards him, picking his files off the couch and dropping them on the coffee table. She dropped into the seat beside him, curling up until her head was settled on his thigh. Phil sighed. He wasn't going anywhere, it appeared. He tugged an afghan off the back of the couch and settled it over her, and she hummed her happiness.

"What are we going to do instead, Pepper?" Phil crooned, combing her hair away from her neck with gentle fingers, so she wouldn't get a chill as it dried.

"Tony's been recording 'Supernanny' for you," she whispered, "And we're going to watch it."

Phil rolled his eyes but didn't argue as JARVIS took that as his cue to start the show.

They were four episodes into their marathon when Tony finally reappeared, alone. He popped up from behind the couch, seemingly out of nowhere, and Phil wondered idly where he'd been hiding from Cap this time.

Tony stared down at him and Pepper for a long time, long enough for even Phil to start to get creeped out, before asking, "What are you doing?", exactly as Pepper had.

"Watching 'Supernanny'," he said. Tony stayed silent for a while longer.

"Excellent!" he finally declared, and proceeded to clamber over the back of the couch on Phil's other side. He scrunched himself down beside Phil, feet still on the cushion and knees tucked up under his chin. Tony looped his arms around his shins, and started to list over, inch by inch until he was collapsed against Phil's shoulder.

Somewhere in the middle of the fifth episode, Tony and Pepper started to snore simultaneously. Phil decided he might as well go to sleep too.

It wasn't like it was his turn on Tony-duty anyway.

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Natasha crept into the penthouse bedroom well after dark, careful not to wake its residents. She'd heard _all about_ Tony and Pepper's illness from Clint, and didn't particularly want to disturb them from their well-earned rest. She just needed to see that they were okay.

The two bedside tables were littered with all manner of cold-treated paraphernalia, though none of it appeared to have been used in the last twelve hours. The rhythm and sound of the couple's breathing also sounded healthy.

Tony was lying on his back with his head tilted towards Pepper, who had an arm and a leg tossed over him to pin him to the mattress. One of them had kicked their blankets down to the end of the bed, and now Pepper was shivering in the cool air.

Natasha freed the top sheet from the tangle at the foot of the mattress, and spread it over both of them. Then she dug up a heavier blanket to tuck around Pepper.

Pepper murmured sleepily, one eye opening a crack to peer at Natasha. She smiled and smoothed some of Pepper's hair away from her face.

"Ngg… Tasa?" Pepper mumbled, and Natasha's smile widened without her permission.

"Hello, Pepper," she hummed, hands fluttering around the blankets and pillows, just for an excuse to stay.

"Mm… how wuz yer miss-on?"

"It was fine," Natasha said dismissively, turning her attention to Tony, who felt like he was burning up. "I'm glad to be home though." She found a still-damp washcloth on the night table which she used to mop Tony's brow and neck. He moaned softly and nuzzled into her hands.

"Good," Pepper muttered, sounding a little more articulate, "We're glad you're home, too."

Here, in the safety and sleepy-quiet of the bedroom, Natasha could admit to herself that there was a little flicker of _something_ in her chest when Pepper said those words. Unbeknownst to Natasha, at some point during her time as Natalie Rushman, Pepper's opinion had started to _matter_ to her. When she had been revealed as a spy for SHIELD, Pepper had swiftly and decisively cut all ties, something Natasha hadn't realized she'd put down until they were gone.

It had taken far more time and effort than she was entirely comfortable admitting to win back Pepper's trust (she'd held her grudge for _much_ longer than Tony had), but this, right here, made every bit of it worth it.

_[Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!]_


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